Firewhiskey Kisses
by Kitty September
Summary: Honestly, when did Pansy start accepting anything less than the very best? Apparently around about the time Ginny Weasley started turning up at her flat for a shag every time she got drunk enough for some Slytherin skirt lifting. Pansy knows she should ignore the door, but she won't. She never does. Prompt: "Do you only want me when you're drunk?" - F/F


When her doorbell rings, Pansy sighs dramatically even though the kneazle is the only one there to hear her. It is one in the morning on a Thursday night. There is only one person who drops in on Pansy this late, and Pansy already knows how this will go. The kneazle seems to be as unimpressed with Pansy as Pansy is with herself.

Pansy knows she should ignore the door, but she won't. She never does. She was awake and painting her nails anyway so why not let the ginger bint inside? Ginny will just keep trying if Pansy doesn't answer, anyway. She knows this from experience. Bloody persistent Gryffindors. It's never worth the effort. She should know better, but she doesn't.

Pansy will open the door, be dragged into something hot and steamy and fantastic, then promptly abandoned before she can get her dressing gown back on. There will be excuses, something about early practice or plans with friends or some other nonsense which Ginny probably thinks will make Pansy feel better but actually makes it worse. Pansy knows she'll love every minute of it until she wakes up tomorrow; alone and far too sober, and feeling like a dirty little secret. The kneazle gives her a knowing look as she gets up off the sofa.

"Bugger off you," she tells it. It ignores her, as usual.

The doorbell rings again and Pansy adjusts then transfigures her dressing gown from flannelette to black satin, just before she answers. A witch should always be prepared.

"We son!" Ginny mumbles, before flinging herself into Pansy's arms. Pansy catches her and even snogs her back, it's only polite after all and it's amazing even when it is a little sloppy and firewhiskey flavoured.

When she finally disentangles herself Pansy drags Ginny into the kitchen in the hope she can ply the woman with water and sober her up enough for complete sentences, at the very least.

Honestly, when did Pansy start accepting anything less than the very best? Apparently around about the time Ginny Weasley started turning up at her flat for a shag every time she got drunk enough for some Slytherin skirt lifting. So, exactly five weeks. To the day, in fact as it had all started after a Thursday night out at the Leaky that got a little out of hand and then got Ginny very much into Pansy's hands.

"We won," Ginny repeats a little more coherently after downing the proffered glass of water.

"So I gathered," Pansy tells her, eyebrow raised even though she knows her finely honed sarcasm is lost on Ginny when she's like this.

"Were you listening to the game?" Ginny asks, coming in close and bottling Pansy up against her own kitchen counter.

Yes, actually, Pansy had been to the WWN coverage of Ginny's blighted Quidditch match, for Merlin's sake, all because of this silly ginger Gryffindor. Pansy isn't about to admit that and let Ginny realise just how much power she has over her, however.

"You know I've never understood Quidditch," says Pansy. "I got through all of school without touching a broom more than twice and I have no intention of learning now."

"I could teach you?" Ginny's voice goes coy and she smiles like treacle, it makes Pansy want to taste her.

"You would have to be sober for that, my dear," Pansy tells her, firmly. "And you would need to stick around, maybe even see me during daylight hours? Morgana forbid!" She thinks about pushing Ginny away, but she's warm and close and she smells like rain and firewhiskey and fresh cut grass. So Pansy lets her stay put for now. She's less likely to break anything from here, at least.

"I could do that?" Ginny says it like she isn't sure, it's half a statement and half a question which makes Pansy laugh.

It's Pansy's old schoolgirl laugh, the one she saved for girls she was scared of, the one for keeping people out. It doesn't work this time.

Ginny kisses her, light and not quite chaste. "I could, you know. If you let me?"

"Are you asking to stay the night, Weasley?"

"Yep." Ginny grins at her, as if she's cleverly tricked Pansy into something. Which is ridiculous, Pansy is the one who does the trickery in this… whatever it is they have. "I've got all day tomorrow off. I'll make you breakfast and take you flying after."

"Very well," Pansy allows, at last. "But you have to wait for my nails to dry before you pounce on me, you blasted lion. And you may take me shopping, not flying."

"Sure," Ginny grins back at her. "Whatever you want." She's blinding bright and painfully charming.

Pansy kisses her again just to make her stop. The kiss still tastes like firewhiskey, but maybe tomorrow's won't.


End file.
